


Every Breath In Your Lungs (Is A Gift To Me)

by MisterTiberius



Category: Supernatural, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, BAMF Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Daryl Dixon Needs a Hug, Dean has an anger disorder, Getting to Know Each Other, Good Person Merle Dixon, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injured Dean Winchester, Insecure Daryl Dixon, Intermittent Explosive Disorder, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Merle Dixon Being Merle Dixon, Merle Dixon Lives, Mutual Pining, Nice Merle Dixon, Oblivious Dean Winchester, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Dean Winchester, Pack Dynamics, Promise, Protective Daryl Dixon, Protective Merle Dixon, Rare Pairings, Season 1&2 Dean w/a pinch of insanity, Set in the prison era and moves forward from there, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, That tag will make sense later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:08:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29257986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterTiberius/pseuds/MisterTiberius
Summary: “I ain’t leaving without ‘im. I won’t.” Merle snarled, yanking his arm out of Daryl’s bruising grip. The younger Dixon’s eyes narrowed as he spun on Merle, they didn’t have time for this. There was smoke and screaming and gunfire surrounding them on all sides. All it would take was a stray bullet and one of them could end up dead, he didn’t have time to spare for one of Merle’s tantrums-“You hear me boy?” Merle growled, getting right up in Daryl’s face with that challenging sneer that the younger Dixon absolutely loathed. He couldn’t afford a fight with Merle, his mission was to get them both out of this damned place alive and more-or-less unscathed. But he couldn’t do that when his brother was fighting him every step of the way, which left one burning question sitting on his tongue.“Fer fucks sake Merle! Who da hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout!?”
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester, Daryl Dixon/Dean Winchester, Merle Dixon & Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Every Breath In Your Lungs (Is A Gift To Me)

Dean braced his hands on his knees and harshly sucked some much-needed air into his screaming lungs, he hadn’t run that hard since before he’d stumbled upon Woodbury. He wiped the sweat off his brow, glancing over at the cluster of arguing people that were swarmed around his friend. While they were running for their lives, his companion mentioned that they were his previous group, the ones who’d left his buddy handcuffed on a roof. With a huff, Dean levered himself upright, only to be abruptly hit with a wave of vertigo that made him stumble.

His left side throbbed in a familiar manner, and Dean could only hope that the damage wasn’t too substantial. He set his jaw and dragged his eyes down to the pain in question, wincing when he took inventory of the state his favorite pine green Henley was in. The stain would never come out, today was just getting worse and worse. Dean's throat clicked when he swallowed, feeling irrationally betrayed by gravity when the world started to spin.

When his stomach lurched threateningly, Dean figured it was prime time to let his pal know that he was gonna be down for the count in a hot minute. He shed his hoodie and bundled it up to press the garment against the wound, hissing when the pressure made the injury burn with a vengeance. He wasn’t sure how much blood he’d lost already, but he would need treatment soon or he was as good as dead.

“Hey.” Dean called and the voices quieted, the attention of several strangers shifting to his swaying form. “I got hit. Don’t have much time left before I faint like a damsel, so the question is...who’s gonna catch me?” Dean’s lips quirked and his knees buckled, the ground rushing up to meet him. Thankfully, he was caught at the last second. Something solid and familiar dug into his back, pressing him flush against a warm body.

He could feel the person’s other hand awkwardly keeping the hoodie over the hole in his side, but whoever it was didn’t seem to mind the odd angle their arm was held at. Dean breathed in to confirm his suspicions on who his knight in shining armor was and chuckled when the scent of booze, sweat, and the coppery tang of blood made it perfectly clear that his friend had been the one to lend a hand.

“Thanks Merle, it would've been humiliating if I face-planted in front of your buddies. Not a very good first impression man.” Dean sagged onto the redneck, trusting Merle to take his weight. The elder Dixon’s chest vibrated when he spoke, but for some reason Dean couldn’t make out the words that were being exchanged. He didn’t really have time to properly worry about his hearing before more hands were touching him, carefully removing the hoodie and tugging his shirt up to expose the weeping injury.

Between one blink and the next, Dean was in a moving vehicle, which was more than a little disorienting. He must have made an involuntary noise, because the rising sun was blotted out by a blurry figure a heartbeat later. Dean caught the telltale glint of a gun and he twisted to get away from the perceived threat on instinct, only remembering that he was shot when the injury abruptly flared up. He bit off a cry, kicking out when a pair of hands pushed onto his shoulders to pin him.

“Get off, _get off me._ Merle...where’s Merle?” Dean hissed, his muscles locking up when his pain receptors suddenly decided to click back on. “Fuck.” He groaned, already lamenting the loss of that blissful numbness. The vehicle hit a pothole and his stomach rolled, bile crawling up his esophagus. He swallowed it down with a grimace, not very keen on vomiting in their cramped transportation. He was ridiculously relieved when black dots crept in from the edges of his vision, welcoming the darkness that dragged him into sweet oblivion.

* * *

Dean shifted to roll over, pausing when his wrist pulled taut. The sharp scrape of metal-on-metal grated his ears, prompting him to make an effort to pry his heavy lids open. He made note of his surroundings first, a ball of lead forming in his gut when he realized that he was in a cell. The more pressing matter being the simple fact that he was handcuffed to a bed, nothing good ever came from being restrained on any sort of surface. But Dean had a bit of a track-record with beds; more specifically, being tied to one.

“Easy now, you lost quite a bit of blood.” Dean startled, head whirling around to fix cutting hazel eyes on the older man that was seated next to him. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to process the crutches and the stranger’s missing leg, his heartbeat slowing down despite the fact that he was far from safe. The man didn’t pose a threat to him at the moment though, so he let himself have the luxury of relaxing for the time being.

“Where’s Merle? Is he okay?” Dean sat up the best he could considering the fact that there was a pair of handcuffs securing his wrist to the sturdy bunk bed. He scratched his chest with his free hand, not really surprised to find that he was shirtless. There were also bandages wrapped around his waist, and he recognized the pull of stitches whenever he cautiously stretched. He could hear the faint murmur of voices, but the echoes were throwing off his count of how many others there were.

“Merle’s fine, he’s been asking about you. Daryl visits frequently upon his brother’s request in order to pass information about how you’re doing. I’m Hershel, it’s nice to finally meet you.” The old man eyed him curiously, like Dean was a puzzle that he couldn’t solve. Dean pondered about Merle’s mysterious brother for a moment before he heard footsteps approaching, his attention successfully being dragged away from Hershel or the faceless ‘Daryl’. There were two people if he wasn’t mistaken, the influx of sounds bouncing off concrete walls made it hard to be certain.

“‘Bout time you woke up. I was gittin’ sick ‘n tired of Merle’s constant bitchin’.” The two men that stood outside the cell were _unfairly_ attractive, and clearly complete opposites. The one who had spoken possessed a gruff and predatory exterior, pacing in front of the bars like _he_ was the one locked in. The other was motionless the moment he’d stopped walking, like a crocodile that was patiently waiting for prey to stupidly stumble into its open jaws. Everything about him demanded respect, from the way he held himself, to the way others reacted to his presence. His hand was on his gun, glacial eyes scrutinizing Dean.

Judging by that intimidating stare alone, Dean would bet his favorite switchblade that the man had been associated with some branch of law enforcement prior to the outbreak. A quick calculation made it clear that his chances of winning against the both of them were slim to none, especially since one of his arms was out of the equation. He didn’t like his odds, but he’d gotten out of worse situations.

“Merle is awfully tight-lipped about your name, care to shed some light on the matter?” The ex-law enforcement man quipped, short and to the point. Dean’s head tilted as he considered his options, not that there were many. The best course of action would be to cooperate, Merle had likely already caused a scene, so Dean had to pick up the slack that the elder Dixon’s lack of tact left. It certainly wouldn’t be easy either, Dean was well aware of how much of a tool Merle was capable of being.

“Dean Winchester.” He announced, and the two men outside the cell shared a look. The scruffy one with perpetually narrowed eyes gave him a brief once over and Dean wished he knew what the guy saw. Dean took a much needed minute to gather his wits before speaking up in hopes of breaking the tension that cloaked the small room. “I heard that you knew Merle from before Woodbury, so that means…” The sentence tapered off as something about the rugged man’s accent niggled at the back of Dean’s mind. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but this twitchy guy kinda reminded him of Merle.

Then it clicked.

“Holy shit. You're the brother, aren’t you? Daryl, right? Merle talks about you _all the time.”_ Dean’s face broke out into a grin, and he eagerly jumped to his feet. Unfortunately, the cuffs didn’t let him get far, the metal digging into his skin and halting his excited movement. Dean glared at the restraints before petulantly reclaiming his seat on the bed. A gentle hand touched his shoulder and he startled, flinching away and gritting his teeth when his side smarted. He heard the click of keys sliding into a lock, and then his wrist was free.

“The handcuffs were just a precaution, you were a bit touch-and-go for a few hours.” Hershel murmured, removing the cuffs from the bedpost before slipping them through the bars and handing them to the intimidating figures waiting on the other side. Former-law-enforcer took the cuffs and placed the metal bracelets into one of the many pockets on his belt. Dean blinked down at the ring of red, irritated skin that circled his wrist. The safe guard made sense though, they didn’t know that he wouldn’t turn after death. He popped up, turning to grab Hershel’s hand with both of his.

“Thank you for patching me up, I appreciate it.” Dean squeezed the old man’s hand before releasing him, spinning on his heel to address the two men lingering at the door. “I met Merle at Woodbury, I was just passing through but the Governor had him talk me into sticking around. Then the man had us share a living space, we started talking and became fast friends. Merle knows practically _everything_ about me, and I know him pretty well too.” Dean shrugged, sauntering over to the bars that separated him from the rest of the building.

“Did you find our stash? There’s food and weapons, I only ask that you give me my leather jacket and refrain from using my Colt 1911 until you feel I’m trustworthy and give it back.” Dean crossed his arms when the two men looked at one another again, patiently waiting for the duo to finish their voiceless conversation. “We went back for your stuff when we were sure that you were stable. You two had quite the collection.” Dean snorted, remembering the first time Merle took him out to his secret stockpile.

“Yeah, that was all Merle, I saw the stash when it was almost finished. For as much of an stupid ass the man is, he sure likes being prepared.” Dean straightened when the curly-haired gentleman unclipped a set of keys from his belt. With a twist of his wrist, the door was opened and Dean was free from the tiny room. Dean made sure to move at a moderate pace as to not startle either man into drawing on him, he knew when he had to tread carefully. Hershel was right behind him, his crutches tapping along as he was led down a set of stairs.

“There ya ‘re, I was startin’ to wonder if Darlina was lyin’ to me about yer recovery.” Dean smiled when he spotted Merle, the redneck was locked in a cell that was in what seemed to be a small cafeteria. “Hey man, miss me?” Dean hung back with Hershel as the door between the cellblock and mess hall was unlocked. Dean went straight to Merle, who was casually lounging against the bars. Dean clapped a hand down onto the elder redneck’s shoulder, and Merle’s tense posture finally relaxed.

“Is there a particular reason why you didn’t tell them my name? Just out of curiosity, man. You don’t have to answer.” Dean assured, tightening his grip on Merle’s shoulder before letting his hand slide off. “I jus’ wanted ta be difficult.” Merle bared his teeth in a parody of a smile, which had nothing on the grin that he wore when Dean told a good joke or ditched his duties to spend the day with the elder Dixon instead. Merle always took the brunt of the Governor's displeasure when Dean was inevitably tattled on, claiming that he had needed Dean for something else.

“Of course you did, you’re such a dick.” Dean wasn’t all that annoyed though, long since used to Merle’s antics. “Oh, that reminds me.” Dean turned to point at the light-haired man that was seated on one of the tables. “That’s Daryl, right?” Merle’s gaze lazily followed his finger, eyes landing on the scowling man at the table before nodding with a nasty smirk. “Sure is Dean-o, and da pig next ta ‘im is _Officer Friendly.”_ Dean pumped a fist into the air, pleased that he was right about the man’s job pre-apocalypse.

“I knew it! Dude _screams_ law enforcement. I’m Dean Winchester by the way, nice to meet you all.” Dean gave the group a friendly wave, eyes screeching to a halt on a teenage girl who was holding a... _baby?_ Dean blinked, a delighted smile stretching onto his face mere seconds later. “Aw, they’ve got a little one. It’s been forever since I’ve laid eyes on a baby, boy or girl?” Dean’s hands twitched with the urge to hold it, curse his maternal instincts.

“Girl. Her name is Judith. I’m Beth, you’ve already met my dad.” Beth glanced at Hershel and Dean nodded, his smile dropping into a frown when he caught sight of a Korean man who looked a bit worse for wear. Without even thinking, he whistled lowly. “Whoa, that looks awful. I’d hate to see the other guy.” He stated in an admittedly flimsy attempt to lighten the mood, offering the Korean a sympathetic smile. “That’s quite the beating you took.” The man’s expression twisted into a hateful sneer, eyes cutting over to Merle. “Yeah, no thanks to your _friend.”_ He spat, and Dean’s brain stalled out. It took him a hot minute to process the words, building a rough timeline in his head.

He certainly didn’t like the story his quick calculations produced.

“I’m going to fucking _gut_ that bastard.” Dean seethed, rage bubbling up his throat. He whirled on Merle, grabbing the bars in a white-knuckle grip to give them something to do other than find the nearest face. “He did it again, didn’t he?” The older redneck looked away, and the lack of response was answer enough. “Fuck. This is my fault.” Dean ducked his head, breathing through the red haze. He could feel the burning stares of the group drilling into him, and figured it was as good a time as any to explain himself. 

It was better that he lay all his cards on the table now, rather than have them find out about the less pleasant stuff the hard way.

“The uh...the Governor liked to make Merle do his dirty work, but Merle wasn’t too keen on it. But then I showed up and wormed my way under Merle’s skin. I have...a condition. It’s called Intermittent Explosive Disorder, which means I have repeated episodes of impulsive and violent behavior or angry verbal outbursts. I can’t control when it happens, but there are warning signs.” Dean wryly recited, slowly loosening his death-grip on the bars before turning to face the group.

“Before the outbreak, I was in an institute. I took medication and the calm periods between episodes got longer and longer, until I rarely had outbursts anymore. But then the world went to shit, and I ran out of meds on the road. I was too deep in the country to get more, fluoxetine isn’t very easy to find out of the city.” Dean chuckled humorlessly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Without the meds, the episodes came back with a vengeance. For a long time, the littlest things would set me off.”

“I’m sure you can imagine how much trouble I got into at a place like Woodbury, and Merle made the mistake of asking the Governor to go on a run to find me some medication. That’s when he started using me as leverage, the Governor had me locked up whenever I had an episode. Then he’d have his goons beat me if Merle didn’t cooperate, so we started planning our departure.” Dean concluded, scowling at his boots.

“I’m sorry that you guys got tangled up in the Governor's schemes.” He sighed, running a hand over his face. He jolted when he realized someone had approached him, a bowl of steaming rice with vegetables and chunks of meat in hand. The woman had steel in her eyes and her platinum hair was cropped shorter than Dean’s, but she held herself in a way that Dean recognized all-too-well. He took the offered meal with a soft murmur of thanks and she introduced herself as Carol.

There were fifteen people total - excluding Merle and himself - and five of them were newbies. Dean made an effort to memorize everyone’s name, mentally making note of anyone who looked like they might cause the main group problems. Michonne, Tyreese, and Sasha seemed to have the group’s best interest in mind, but Ben and Allen were shifty and kept eyeing Rick. Dean would mention their suspicious behavior to Daryl later, and if the younger Dixon didn’t take him seriously, then Dean would take it upon himself to keep a close eye on the two.

Thankfully, Merle was let out of the cell in order to eat with everyone. Dean settled down next to the elder Dixon, polishing off his portion of food in record time. When offered seconds, he politely turned it down. Hershel and Carol were immediately on his case, insisting that he needed the nutrients to help him heal. Dean’s chest warmed at their worrying, but he still waved off their concerns, telling them to give Merle more instead. He was pleasantly surprised when the elder redneck unexpectedly piped in and all but ordered Dean to split Merle’s second helping with him.

He let the elder Dixon have his way, grabbing Merle’s bowl and pulling it closer to himself for easier access and scooping up a heaping bite. “I’m sorry that you had to hurt Glenn, I’m sure that didn’t feel nice.” Dean whispered, keeping his voice low so as to not attract attention to their conversation. Merle huffed, but shifted so that he could press his thigh flush against Dean’s. “I’d be lyin’ if I said a part o’ me didn’ enjoy beatin’ the snot outta that chink-”

“He’s Korean.” Dean cut in, smirking when Merle scowled at the interruption. “Yeah, whatever. That _Korean_ fuck was there in Atlanta when I was left fer dead.” The elder Dixon’s face pinched with hurt before he covered it up with anger, and that right there was why Dean worked so hard to befriend the man. Merle wasn’t a heartless, sexist, racist asshole...he’d just been raised by one. “Well, look on the bright side. If you hadn't been left behind, you probably would have never met me.” Dean nudged his shoulder, drawing a small smile from the other man.

“Ya say that like it woulda been a bad thing.” Merle gaffed, but contradicted his harsh statement by throwing an arm over Dean’s shoulder to pull him closer. “Hey now! I’m a goddamn catch, sir!” Dean gasped, feigning offence. Merle snorted, grabbing the bowl to push it in front of Dean. “Finish dat up, yeah? Can’t have ma’ partner ‘n crime outta commission ferever.” Merle grumbled and Dean heaved a defeated sigh. The elder Dixon had hardly touched the food unless it was to unenthusiastically poke at it, Dean had been the one who’d cleared the majority of the bowl.

“I knew you were going to pull something like this, you’re so _predictable_ man.” Dean groaned, but dug into the meal with gusto all-the-same. The cafeteria had become oddly quiet within the last few minutes and Dean was met with a multitude of shocked and confused faces when he finally managed to lift his head from the bowl of food. He popped the last bite of rice into his mouth, confused as to why they were watching Merle and himself like they were a pair of zoo animals that had done something out of the ordinary.

“What?” Dean blurted, shifting uncomfortably under their collective staring. It was almost as if they were floored by their friendly banter, but there wasn’t anything different about this time compared to any of their other interactions. But that was it, wasn’t it? They had obviously never seen Merle interact with another person in a way that wasn’t hostile, and there were people from the Quarry here too. They had most likely seen the worst of Merle, the man had been popping pills like they were candy while he was with them.

Merle had been forced to sober up in Woodbury, they weaned him off the concoction of drugs he was taking and he’d been clean ever since. Dean made sure to be very supportive, especially when Merle had the occasional relapse. On the rare occasion that Dean found Merle as high as a kite, he would look after the elder redneck until he came around again. The first time Dean stumbled upon him in such a state, Merle had looked so ashamed and lost, lashing out at Dean in an attempt to get him to leave. He just let Merle get it all out and then sat with him, allowing the elder Dixon to take comfort in knowing that Dean wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what the redneck threw at him.

That was the foundation that their tentative friendship was built upon; the mutual desire for someone to stick with them no matter what. Merle was more open about sharing bits of himself with Dean after that night, along with starting to actively seek out Dean’s company during the day. When Dean finally gathered enough nerve to tell Merle about his disorder, the man didn’t even blink. Then, a few days later, Dean made an off-handed comment about feeling guilty for swinging at people who didn’t deserve it. And - low and behold - the next time he went off, Merle made an effort to keep innocent people out of the line of fire.

“Hey, do you think I could sleep with you? I’m gonna be locked up anyways and I’d rather have you close by.” Dean shot a hopeful look at Merle, who eyed his bandaged side for a moment before moodily muttering that Dean could do what he wanted. Dean turned the full brunt of his ecstatic smile on Rick, wanting to make sure that the leader was okay with the sleeping arrangement. Grimes nodded his approval and Dean happily started up a conversation about family recipes with Carol until Hershel hobbled over to fetch him for a bandage change.

* * *

Dean was pretty worn out by the time everyone - except for those who had watch, that is - decided to head off to bed, Daryl wordlessly handing him a soft blanket and fluffy pillow before Rick unlocked Merle’s cell to let him in. Dean wished them both goodnight and Rick politely returned the sentiment while Daryl remained a silent sentinel at Grimes’ side. Dean didn’t take offense to Daryl's indifference toward him, Merle had informed him that the younger Dixon was slow to warm up to strangers.

“They moved a bed in ‘ere earlier, ya can have it.” Merle had already laid his own blanket out on the floor and had made himself more or less comfortable on the concrete ground, which was certainly _not_ going to fly with Dean. “No way man, we can share. It’s nothing we haven’t done before.” Dean scoffed and heard a choked noise from outside the cell. Dean turned just in time to see Daryl’s wide blue eyes before the younger Dixon spun on his heel and made a hasty retreat, Rick leisurely following the man after leveling Dean with a calculating look.

“I wonder what all that was about?” Dean quipped, haphazardly tossing his pillow onto the bed. Merle smiled at Dean knowingly as he heaved himself off the floor, apparently enjoying a joke that Dean was not yet in on. “Don’t worry ‘bout it Dean, Darlina’s _delicate.”_ Merle purred, unlatching the straps that held his prosthetic limb in place. Dean moved to help, carefully removing the contraption from the scarred wrist. Dean did a perfunctory check of the mechanics, knowing that he’d have time to do a more in-depth inspection of the inner workings of the gear tomorrow.

Dean set the prosthetic within easy reach of the bed, knowing that Merle got fidgety without it nearby. Dean heard Merle flop down onto the bed, tapping the elder Dixon’s shoulder to encourage the man to scoot over. With a low huff of effort, Merle squirmed across the limited space before lifting his arm invitingly. Dean breathed an easy laugh before sliding under the limb and curling towards the redneck. It took around five minutes of shifting before they settled on their sides, facing each other, their legs tangled under their shared blankets.

Merle’s left arm had ended up protectively curled around Dean’s waist, his hand limply hanging off the bed. The elder redneck’s right arm was tucked between the two of them, their bodies shielding the stump from prying eyes. Dean’s own arms were slotted under Merle’s armpits, wrapped around the elder Dixon’s torso in a loose hug. His face was tucked under Merle’s chin, taking comfort in the familiar scratch of stubble that tickled his forehead when the man swallowed. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut and he effortlessly slipped into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I was way too excited to post this, I'd fleshed out how I wanted Dean to come across in this fic way before I began writing it. This little story popped into my head one day and refused to leave, and I'm sorta in love with this rare pair ngl. Feel free to leave a review! Stay weird my lovelies!


End file.
